


and we'll coast on

by AxZi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Character list shows main characters only., Family, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, More will be added as as become applicable., There are two OCs by the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxZi/pseuds/AxZi
Summary: She'll live her life the way she wants to: leisurely. Now if only the universe would cooperate with her for once...





	and we'll coast on

Being a baby was like having your legs cut of, all your senses shut down and no bowel control. It was absolute hell on earth. One thing that became clear to me was that as a baby one is completely dependant on others. And that it was humiliating as well: everyone in my family had seen me naked more than once, and in other humiliating positions like it.

 First year as a baby was spent crying, sleeping and attempting to practise my fine motor skills so that I would be able to do things on my own. Actually, I think I was starting to develop control freak tendencies. Then it was my second year, and my mother died.

I didn't realize it at the time, of course. I was only aware of the lack of the woman who'd used to take care of me, a.k.a change my nappies and feed me. I didn’t understand them and they couldn’t understand me.

[While as a real baby, I'm sure I would have picked the language up way faster, but because I'd been an adult when I'd died then subsequently reborn, I had the mind of an adult and as such, my brain wasn't to be easily shaped into place. At two years old, I had the language skills of a two-month-old baby.]

There was a funeral of course, one that I was forced to attend by the male who'd been hanging around a lot ever since the female had disappeared, and had been dressed in an absolutely black dress with a black bow for my tuffs of hair. The male kept his hand on mine, probably so I didn't stray. Of course he'd cried, and his grip had tightened uncomfortably.

That's another thing I had to deal with as a child, the unintentional rough handling of my caretakers, who I couldn't exactly signal that they were hurting me, as I didn't have the language skills to say I was hurt and neither did my pride allow me to cry. So, in other words, I often ended up with bruises no one had a clue where they came from.

One day, even, my male caretaker scooped me up and deposited me on the sofa, where he sat down and then began a grave conversation. Or attempted to. He attempted to phantomized my arms, the bruises I would get, and beating someone up.

 I am one hundred percent sure he was asking me whether bullies had been giving said bruises to me.

Considering that he had been the one to bruise, and that this was pissing me of, I spat at him and then gurgled happily when I'd ruined his silk button down shirt. He had a habit of only wearing his ninja gear on missions and splurged on expensive clothing and expensive dyes for the clothing and I remember that that one had been his favourite, once upon a time.

At the time that I was three, and was able to speak most words though grammar was still a hassle and didn't exactly attempt to hold any conversations with anyone, a new toddler became part of the bond between my male caretaker and I.

A child named Sangri, who was incredibly affectionate and touch happy. The opposite of me, in other words. She was also somewhat of a prodigy in regards to how self aware she was, of herself and her place in this world. Not only that, but she could speak in legible sentences and hold real conversations with people.

A normal child would have been jealous at how much positive attention Sangri was being given compared to me, but considering that I'd be perfectly happy to be left alone, and had no attachment to the male caretaker, or my father, it meant that I wasn't jealous at all.

[The only thing that annoyed me, was that Sangri was impartial with her touch happy attitude. Somehow, I'd managed to get myself a hanger on who wouldn't stop following me and grab me in a hug, or stroke my short wispy hair or any other touch me in other ways. This annoyed me, and while I attempted to note my distaste with my body language, she happily ignored said bodily cues.]

At one point in my new life, my male caretaker took Sangri and me with him for an outing at a restaurant. Said place was packed full. It seemed that joining use would be the Naras, Akimaras and Yamanakas. All of those names struck me as familiar, so they must have been at the funeral because I hadn't interacted with anyone else outside of them except my father, mother, and Sangri.

Sangri immediately followed the toddler Yamanaka named Ino into the play pen at the corner of the establisment. The playpen was home to wooden kunai to play with, which the girls used to playact ninja. It was interesting watching their sluggish joints and limbs to move in a mimick of a ninja's grace.

[My female caretaker had been a ninja, I can remember. She'd died during a mission. Her death had notified Sarutobi, the Hokage, into taking notice of his student, Orochimaru's, actions whilst out of Konoha. She was hailed as a hero for that, but a dead one, so the gesture was just pointless.]

I zoned back in on the adult’s conversation as my name was called.

"I really don't understand what the problem is with her," my male carer said while his voice simply oozed helplessness, and frustration. "Sangri took well to being taught but Leiko," that was my name, "Never seems to pay any attention, or understand anything well."

He leaned heavily back in his chair after this outburst. "For goodness sake, she can't even talk properly!"

Shikaku patted him sympathetically on the back. He smelled of iron and bitter ozone. Most likely from his cigarrettes. "It could be that she just doesn't want to learn," he offered as he peeked down at me standing next to my male caretakers chair. I unintentionally caught his eye and froze like a deer in headlights. He kept the stare, even as I scooted a bit away from him and firmly pressed my lips together. Shikako reaction to this was to pay my male caretaker some more attention.

"She seems bright enough. She was following along our conversation, wasn't she?" he asked, to my disgruntlement. Before my male caretaker could answer, I felt a hand drop on my shoulder and I twisted around. It was Shikamaru, Shikaku's son. He took my hand and firmly pressed onwards away from the adult's table to the place that he'd claimed, where there was another kid, an Akamichi from his face markings. There was also a Go board on top of the small, child sized table.

He left me and the Akamichi to get me a chair, as there were only two. I wrinkled my nose because, honestly, why had he done all that?

He returned soon after and I sat down on the chair he'd brought. He made me play go with him.

It was luckily not the other popular game, whatever it was called, where I didn't know the rules. We played and everything else faded away in the glorious competitive battle that appeared between us. Of course, at that moment I hadn't realized that it would be the thing evidencing that I was intelligent, no matter how illiterate and difficult I acted.

[I still haven't forgiven him for that, despite the friendship that game also brought me. A friendship with Shikamaru Nara, a person who was incredibly intelligent and who could keep up with my random trails of thought and almost adult like behaviour and distaste for touch.]

From then on, the outings also increased and for some reason or another the Akimichi clanhead and his son, Nara clanhead and his son, Yamanaka clanhead and his daughter would always join us. Sangri was already creating a tight friendship with Ino, though she often would ignore Shikamaru and Choji and attempt to latch onto me and force me to hang out with her and Ino.

At the same time however, when I became aware that Shikaku, Inoichi and the Akimichi where clanheads, I wondered who my male caretaker was. I also wondered who I was, considering politics. From the stories I would overhear, it was obvious that we – our clan - also held genetically disposed abilities. Like bloodlines. My male caretaker wasn't a ninja anymore – hadn’t been since Sangri – so I couldn't hear whether he had a bloodline and as such, I also had one. But I was getting ferociously curious.

And so I asked father, the first time I had willingly interacted with him. Boy was he surprised.

"We're from the Homura clan," he told me as he dealt with cooking Sangri a midnight snack. Sangri was often hungry, and because she was rather a prodigy, her whims where all taken care off. "And we're from the mainhouse. However, because of my decision not to be a ninja, instead of me becoming the head of the clan, my sister has. Sangri is actually your cousin, but because your aunt is busy working, she sent her to me to ensure that she was well cared for. She's the next in line for being the clan's head."

He watched me afterwards, rather obviously waiting for a reaction on why I wasn't the clan's head. "Like Choji and Shikamaru?" was my reaction to which he let out a startled laugh.

"Yes, and like Ino too," he stated with a hint of chastening. He knew that I didn't really pay attention to Ino.

"Huh. Does that mean we have a bloodline?" I asked.

He sprinkled some pepper onto Sangri's sandwich while he deliberated on what to tell me. Eventually, he settled on, "Yes, but I don't want you playing around and trying to use it until you're at least a genin. Understood?" With my fingers twisted behind my back, I promised him solemnly. Of course, the fingers meant I was definitely planning on breaking it.

From that moment on, I endeavoured to actually be literate, as I couldn't read and my grammer was often still iffy, though not as bad as it was. So I would often practise dictating to Shikamaru, who'd then correct my grammer and expressions (which I had the most problems with) and Choji would read me stories as I followed along the Hiragana and Kanji.

I was six years old when I finally had it under my control. And that was also the first time I entered the house's storage room where I knew all the scrolls were on their family. Because I had to know how to use my bloodline. It had become somewhat of an obsession as I observed Shikamaru using his.

"Uncle says we're not allowed to use it," Sangri protested after I had excitedly told her about what exactly our blood line would do.

 "And? He's not here, is he?" I told her, face blank as I waited for her to connect the dots. But Sangri remained indecisive. “We just won’t tell him,” I went on, watching as her face contorted in dubious thought, cheeks puffing up in irritation.

I could see this wasn’t going to work. Though it annoyed me to have to resort to this, I put to work the second step of my cajoling plan: I mimed silence with my finger and winked. “It’ll be our little secret Sangri. Only you and me.”

She visibly grew excited, the irritation draining away so her face was made up out of smooth planes. “Just us two? Nee-san, you mean it?”

Inwardly wincing, though knowing that I’d called this onto myself, I gave her a brusk nod. “Yes.”

She jumped onto me, arms like spindly tree branches latching onto my blouse and not letting go. I looked at her over her head, and suppressed a sigh. I went ahead and searched through the scrolls: history, history, fire release, history – before I’d finally found one that looked promising.

After cajoling my sister to let me go, we both squatted down onto the dry storage floor and pored over the scroll.

What we read inside of it was pretty weird. It talked about the yin of chakra. My sister hummed. Glancing sideways at her, I could see her eyes had narrowed, an obvious sign that she understood perfectly what was written before her.

I read further, tracing the difficult kanji with a finger for Sangri to translate. We were both whispering, staying quiet. It wouldn’t be good for us to be found out now, now would it?

Once done I talked with Sangri about it. “What do you think?” I said, shifting my weight around as I folded my legs above the floor.

“Dunno. Nee-san, I don’t think we can do this. Just reading this scroll….” She trailed off.

I tried not to glare at her, a bitter taste in my mouth that I also tried to ignore. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought it might be the case. It would be strange if someone could so easily swagger in and read a scroll and ‘poof!’ Insta-genetical ability. That’d be far too easy: our clan wasn’t the Hyuuga.

But again, it was a difficult pill to swallow. “Let’s just go,” I said, already coming out from my crouch. I looked at the shelves, our clan’s symbol traced right above it in leaf gold. “Come on.” I helped her up, hand latching reassuringly around hers.

We put the scroll back were we found it, and sneaked out.

Next day, it was to us finding out my male caretaker had known perfectly well about our midnight activity. Sangri didn’t take easily to that.

Spiky locks of brown failling over her eyes, she’d crossed her arms and pouted. “You said it’d be our secret! That nobody would find out,” she threw at the floor for me to prick my feet on. Her accusation was clear, but I didn’t have time for that.

Turning my head, I saw father looking back at me with his face as if chiseled out of stone, but his put on indifference couldn’t fool me. “If you really cared,” I said, what I thought reasonably, “You’d have stopped us beforehand.”

Like a flower, the face of disciplinal sternness disappeared and a hand came down to rustle my hair, which I tolerated by standing still and waiting for him to cut to the point. “Look at you,” he said affectionately. “Grown so much while I wasn’t looking.” His eyes clouded over; they faced the clan insignia above the entrance to their kitchen.

“Just yesterday, your vocabulary was so small. Words like beforehand had been beyond you.”

Next to me, Sangri giggled, her mood much appeased now she knew we weren’t in trouble. I draped an arm over the slab of the kitchen’s island, cool against my elbow. It was boring having to listen to him prattle on about something I cared little about. So what if I hadn’t know my vocabulary? I was an adult in a child’s mind, not a miracle worker.

Though I wasn’t honestly irritated about that. If I had stood out more, that’d have meant more attention. Something unnecessary. I just wanted him to tell us we could start training on our clan’s bloodline.

Clear-cut and simple.

Tugging onto the sleeve of my father, I caught him mid reminiscing. Blinking down at me from short framing eyelashes; I made a jerking movement with my arm. My way of saying he should get on with it: a call back from when I couldn’t express myself well.

“O-hah,” he snorted, bowl cut rippling as he shook his head. “Of course of course, your highness! Let me get right to it – “

And he did. He told the both of us we were at the age they’d enter the academy. Thus were were also at the age when we could start training on their bloodline. He waxed rhapsody about said bloodline, saying it’d be the “deal breaker” in whatever position we wanted in the ninja corps.

“Though,” he said, shrugging, “It’d be better if you two specialise in close contact fighting. That’s were our bloodline truly shines.” Way to give the impression you care, male caretaker.

Sangri took to it well. Clapping in her hands, she said it’d be “Lovely!” to become a close combat specialist. My eyes stayed fixed on the nonchalant figure of the caretaker, right now folding his hands together underneath his wide-brimmed sleeves. I arched an eyebrow. He had conveniently forgotten to tell us what the actual bloodline consisted off.

He ‘forgot’ to tell us that for a week straight. The exercises he said would prepare us where also the ones we’d always been doing. I felt sceptical, but didn’t bring it up. If he hadn’t done it yet he wouldn’t do it even with nagging.

It was in the beginning of the next week, on our first day of the academy, he told us why.

“You’ve always been training towards it,” was what he said, patting the floor off his hand. Even his nose, the nose of a hawk’s, sharp enough to slice cheese with, was covered with a domplet of the powder. “That’s what those exercises were for.”

“Oh.” Now I understood. And it made sense. If we wouldn’t be able to use the bloodline without building up to it, why not start from a young age? I slowly gave a nod. “Okay.”

He handed both me and Sangri a lunch and waved us out of the door, confident that even if I couldn’t, Sangri could bring us safely to the academy.

“Oh, hey,” Shikamaru greeted me at the door, Choji already by my side. If I remembered correctly, the two had been having a sleepover so that’s why they had shown up at the same time. I nodded at him and let him go in, knowing I had to wait for Ino to show up or Sangri would throw a tantrum again.

[It was awkward watching all those children go in and knowing I was among them. I think growing up as I had in this life had protected me against the truth that I was a child now. Considering I didn’t really go out much except to those gatherings with Shikamaru and Choiji and stuff, not exactly a child’s common experience.]

Once class started, we were all made to introduce ourselves. I listened with a half-ear, playing a game of Go with Shikamaru, who’d pouted a bit when I told him under no circumstances would I play shogi. Besides, he had others to do that with, so I felt no guilt for it.

He had to signal me for my turn, and I stood up from the folded, crappy chairs the academy used, kicking it back with my heel. “Leiko.” Introduction made, I tried sitting down again.  
  
“Geez!” Ino exploded, and where she had been folding braids in my sister’s hair, she reached around the girl’s chair for me. “Do it properly!”

Scoffing at the very thought, I rebuffed her attempts, scouting my chair back and out of reach. Whispers started circling round us from the children who’d first not been paying attention, just like we hadn’t. We were making a scene. I considered Ino’s stubborn eyes and corrected myself. No, Ino was making a scene.

“That’s Ino Yamanaka,” I said, over the teacher’s words to regain control of the classroom. “Miss busybody.”

[I didn’t know why I said that. Mostly I’m unflappable, but Ino making her feud with me public really, really irritated. But still, there was no reason to make it public like she.]

“Don’t say that to my sister,” Sangri cut in, also ignoring the teacher which, surprised me? She adhered to authority, I think because she was used to it. What with the adults we’re usually surrounded by.

Ino didn’t like that, jumping onto the floor in front of her as she stuck her hands to her hips. She was doing a good impression of the mother I could remember crystal clear still. “Don’t say what to your sister?” She scoffed, “If you can call that one!”

Sangri made a scandalized noise at the back of her throat, before she began ripping the rest of Ino’s handiwork out of her hair in jerky, violent movement. “Shut up! Don’t call my sister ‘that’!” And as the coupe the grace, she pitched the ribbons the braids were meant to be tied up with onto the dirty floor before Ino’s nose.

The teacher finally resorted to a genjutsu – “CHILDREN!” and all us children turned as quiet as mice. Literally, we also had the impression we’d been turned into mice, what with the floor suddenly being so close to our chins, and the general lack of thumbs, or standing on two legs or the fur sprouting where _fur should not go._

A child screamed. It was like unleashing the floodgates, and soon the entire classroom was shaking with the ear-piercing screams of the rodents the woman _had turned_ us into! “AAAAAAH!” I screamed, and screamed. I scratched at the skin I thought had to still be there, but there was all this _this this …. fur,_ around.

Others were screaming too—

 “I can’t feel my toes!” 

“GET IT OF GET IT OOOOFFFFF!”

\--Being just a few of them. I’d almost think I wasn’t screaming, but I could feel something _that didn’t belong_ in my throat so I knew I was. 

My tongue didn’t feel right in that throat, even without screaming. I opened my mouth as wide it would go so the organ could flop out, pushing with all my might on the walls of my throat, unable to do it so I tried using my hands to help instead, to clamp down on my throat but they were useless lumps next to me _that I couldn’t move they were there but I couldn’t – couldn’t move them like the bone had been broken_ snap! _Inside, the brittle marrow – no, the veins – the veins had burst they had popped out and slid out of the sinew, jellied muscle jellied hands all of it all –_

**Smack!**

_I…_ my thoughts derailed. _I…_ couldn’t think, all of it gone, nothing but what was before me and what was before me was Shikamaru, who had _slapped me._ I gently touched the swollen skin of my cheek, absently noting he had really gone for it, staring at his mildly perturbed face with disbelief. His colour had fled him, ashen as a corpse, lips slightly parted.

A moment and he looked better. He’d closed his mouth for one. No longer looked devastated for two, and he’d stopped clutching his left arm apprehensively as if it wasn’t part of his body. His hand, reddened and he didn’t hold it away from him like before when he’d used it to slap me with. What was before me was a Shikamaru who had definitely slapped me and—

\--I snapped out of my revery, breath stocking as I categorised the existence of hands again. My hands, tracing the bobs where my fingerbones made their appearance, counting them out loud and giving special attention to the dips in my palm where the lines were, tracing my wrists’ veins (un-popped) – with something close to happiness.

Then I abandoned my hands and grabbed my friend into a hug, stuffing my face into his shoulder, into the fleece of his jacket which smelled familiarly human. He wavered underneath my weight for one minute, before I could feel him return the hug, grip tightening under my arms, above my waist. He squashed me but I was all too happy to squash him back, so it was a mutual squashing going on here.

“Thanks,” I said, wording out my thought. He nodded.

“No problem.”

We both turned to watch the classmates whose parents had brought them to the academy cart them right out again. Undoubtfully, that stunt had lost this classroom half its students. But that had nothing to do with me.

[Really, I might want to become one of them.]

It would have been great if the incident ended there. Except it didn’t. The teacher who traumatized us all ended up fired. Our class was taken over by another teacher, which okay, but it turned out that this teacher had another class to teach as well, so half of the time he was distracted: busy with sorting out class plans for that class, or helping those children if they happened to knock on the door while our class was in session (which happened a _lot)._

And me? Well, I was having second thoughts. Did I or didn’t I want to become a ninja?

Honestly, I had thought Sangri was going to be the ninja and I could just do nothing, basically. Just cruise happily along. But I’d always downgraded that to a fantasy at most, suspecting Sangri would act difficult if I wasn’t in the class there with her, and would quit too. And if so, the male caretaker would force me into attending.

Since I didn’t want unnecessary strife, it seemed to me that staying on the road I currently was on was for the best. It didn’t mean I had to like it, but I’d do it nevertheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Those that recognise this... Shhhh. *puts finger to lips*


End file.
